


Circle Jerk

by Vera



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Make Them Do It, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-01
Updated: 1998-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a companion to my story, When First We Practice. I enjoy light-hearted 'made them do it' stories and wanted to try the theme from two different perspectives. This isn't a remix so much as a thematic sister.</p></blockquote>





	Circle Jerk

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When First We Practice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81325) by [Vera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera). 



Consciousness returned to Jim like a loud noise. Intense pressure at his temples felt like it was forcing his brain out through his sinuses. His mouth was dry, his stomach unhappy, his joints aching and worst of all, his hand was unpleasantly icky. As were his groin and belly. Jesus. He hoped he hadn't made too much noise last night. Keeping your roommate awake by masturbating drunkenly was hellishly embarrassing. He tried to remember if it had been quick or if he'd made a production of it. His aching brain refused to co-operate. Not thinking he rubbed his forehead with the icky hand. He grimaced and ... that didn't smell right. Tentatively he bought his hand to his nose. No, it didn't smell like his semen. It wasn't his semen. Fuck. Someone else's semen was on his hand. He held his arm away from his body, trying to get it as far from him as possible.

Oh my God, he thought. What if it's on my dick as well? What if someone else came on me? Fuck.

He had to wash straight away. It had to be washed out of existence before Blair got up.

Blair.

The act of thinking his roommate's name brought an avalanche of memory crashing down on him. Images flashed and fused. Semen flying like banners from Blair's dick. The weight of his balls. Blair's hand on him as he came. Harsh breathing and the sound of heartbeats loud in his ears. His own voice crooning against the rhythm, 'That's right, give it up for me, Chief. Come on, baby. That's good, that's good.' The sofa. Blair.

Jesus. What had they been doing?

He rolled on to his side and curled into a ball, inadvertently bring his hand back to his face. The smell punched through poorly raised defences, pungent and salty and -- good. Blair smelled good. His piss hard-on stiffened painfully and reminded him that his bladder needed emptying. Survival instincts marshalled his faculties. He had to get up, piss and take a shower. He had to do it now. He hauled himself out of bed, headed for the stairs and paused. He had to put on a robe, he couldn't let Blair see him like this. Halfway to the wardrobe, his undercover instincts kicked in. Don't radically change your habits. Shit. He stood undecided and angry then thought, 'To hell with it' and grabbed a pair of boxers from the dresser. He wasn't walking buck naked through the loft, dick first, while his skin still remembered the touch of Blair's hand. Blair's strong, square hand. He gripped the edge of the dresser with knuckle-whitening pressure.

It's not the end of the world, he told himself, trying to ease off. We'll laugh about it, it'll be a joke, a drunken lunacy. It won't matter. He won't hate me. God, he may stop trusting me.

The possibility of losing Blair's trust sent a draft of cold air through his soul.

Maybe, he thought hopefully, maybe he was so drunk he'll forget. I only remembered because I can smell the difference. He'll just wake up, wonder if he made any noise and get over it. Yeah.

He let go of the dresser and turned back to the stairs. He stepped softly, deciding there was no point to waking Blair until he was completely in control of himself, clean and dressed and armoured against the world. Then, when Blair did wake, he would act as though nothing had happened and by sympathetic magic, something he'd learned from Blair, nothing would have happened. It was a simple plan, it was a good plan. He was proud of it. Half way down the stairs he realised it would never work.

Blair was not tucked up in his little bed, sleeping the sleep of the just. He was on the sofa. With his tee shirt pushed up, baring his broad, hairy chest and his jeans shoved down, tangled round his knees. He was lying partly on his side, partly on his back. His penis curled against his thigh, crystal streaks of dried ejaculate trailing from it up his belly, matting hair. One arm was flung out, hand resting on the floor, the other grasped a cushion, snuggled against his cheek. The morning sun was inching bars of light across the loft floor toward him, limning his hair and making sparkling rainbows in the semen.

I did that, Jim thought, I made him look like that.

I want to do it again.

As Jim stood there, paralysed with horror and desire, desire leaching horror, Blair snuffled, rubbed his face against the cushion and opened his eyes. Jim watched, stricken, unable to move or speak, captivated by the debauched beauty of his friend and the untenable duplicity of his position. There'd be no hiding now.

Blair smiled sleepily and blinked. "Morning, Jim," he said, blue eyes dazzled by the morning light. There were five seconds of sharing lazy morning contentment, during which Jim fell helplessly in love with his friend, and then memory crashed Blair's happy daze. Panic struck, he scrambled back against the arm of the sofa, the half-mast jeans nearly crippling him and thwarting his efforts to get away, such as they were. Heartbeat racing, he stared at Jim with shock and terror and a sure clarity of memory blatant on his face. As an afterthought, he put the cushion over his groin.

_Not the cushion,_ Jim thought, then realised that it was probably a bit late to avoid some serious upholstery cleaning. He started laughing, so hard that he sat down with a thump. He leaned forward but that just increased pressure on his bladder so he had to lean back.

"Jim? Are you ok?"

"Sandburg, you look like you should be in comedy," he managed to gasp out.

Offence replaced shock. "Well, thank you very much, Mr Suave. I don't think much of your morning after technique," Blair began. He was interrupted by Jim's half-hobbling sprint to the bathroom.

The sound of Niagra Falls was impossible for Blair's morning after bladder to bear and he glanced thoughtfully at the kitchen sink. He'd never get away with it, not in the same house as a Sentinel who forbade eating in the lounge room. On the other hand, they had gotten down and dirty on this very couch. He remembered he was half naked and started adjusting his clothes. What a mess, he thought. At least Jim seems amused by it.

While he didn't expect Jim to get physically violent, he did wonder if there'd be issues. Big issues. I had my hand around your dick issues. Thank God he hadn't tried to give Jim a blow job. Mutual masturbation he figured he could get away with. After all, you did it when you were a kid, right. Oral sex, on the other hand, would have been difficult to explain away. _Ah, yeah, sure Jim, I was just drunk. Mm, yes, really drunk. No idea why I did that. None at all. Nah uh. There's probably a good reason why I was getting up close and personal with the little general..._ God. He remembered Jim calling his dick 'the little general' as he pulled it out. He'd laughed helplessly until he got a good look at it. Thick and not over long, a little curved, hard, flushed dark red, cut and absolutely beautiful. He itched to touch it.

"Jim," he shouted, recollection interrupted as he heard the shower start, "let me go to the toilet first."

"Just come in."

Goodbye remaining inhibitions, he thought woozily as he staggered to the bathroom.

Jim was standing in the shower with his back to him.

"You know, many people consider the bathroom to be the last bastion of privacy, the one thing they won't do in from of anyone," Blair started talking to keep his mind off the naked Jim beside him, "even a lover."

Oops. _Perhaps that wasn't the right word,_ he thought, feeling as though language had become a minefield, glancing sideways to see if Jim had noticed the slip. His partner had turned to face him and was running soap over his chest and smiling.

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you Chief?"

He willed the urine to go faster, to stop, anything to get him out of the room A.S.A.P. But he couldn't take his eyes off the soap in Jim's hand, soap bubbles running down between Jim's pecs and over his abs. By the time he had finished doing his business, Blair's eyes were drawn helplessly to Jim's groin, where Jim started to clean himself, washing his genitals, irresistible to Blair even in repose. A pleased sound drew his eyes back to Jim's face. Jim's grinning face.

"Wanna share the shower, Blair?"

"You know, Jim, vanity looks good on you," he said pushing down his jeans and pulling off his tee.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion to my story, When First We Practice. I enjoy light-hearted 'made them do it' stories and wanted to try the theme from two different perspectives. This isn't a remix so much as a thematic sister.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [When First We Practice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81325) by [Vera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera)




End file.
